Impress Her with Intangibles
by fyren galan
Summary: A series of drabbles about Draco and Hermione's growing relationship.
1. Impress Her with Silence

Impress Her with Silence

She cursed softly as she walked through the door. It was not her intention to lose that quill now. She didn't see him waiting for her outside the doorway, hoping to get a small confrontation in before lunch. She ran into him abruptly, and looked up. She didn't say anything, merely gazed into his soul. Or so he felt. He tried to make some cutting remark, but failed. Why was he here again? She opened her mouth, and he waited to hear the words that would give him a feeling of knowing, a sense of if this was real.

"I love the top of your head," she said simply, as she brushed by him.

And she truly did. It was just… shiny, y'know? She did love shiny things. Like forks. Which reminded her of lunchtime, which reminded her of the library and of papers, which reminded her of her lost quill.

Damn. She hated the top of Malfoy's head.

A/N: The first in my Draco/Hermione series of drabbles. Go on. Flame it. I dare you. Or love it. Whichever suits your fancy.

I have been asked what the point of this story is. The point, my dear Arianna, is to give you an insight into Draco and Hermione's developing relationship. Because all good relationships start out completely awkwardly and random (in my opinion), I wanted to give the lovebirds a completely awkward and random moment. And Hermione's tired of being presented as a smart girl all the time, when really she's just full of shiny, fork-like goodness.

Alright, that was crap. This is the second fanfic I'd ever written, and I like random stories about forks where not everyone is put together and polished. Plus, I was inspired by the marvelous fork that I had just used for dinner. Hurrah for forks!

Anyhoo, review for voodoo Harry dolls, complete with stabbing fork insert. :]


	2. Impress Her with Knowledge

Impress Her With Knowledge

She sat down, frustrated. How was it possible that none of the books in Hogwart's magnanimous library contained the information that she needed? It was almost enough to make her not believe in life itself. But perhaps she had missed something. She could always go back and check a shelf for the second time.

She was working her way through the Marvels of Magical Menageries when He came. He leaned against the shelf, completely blocking off her light source! How inconsiderate. She stared at him with a considerable amount of annoyance, and hoped whatever came out of his mouth was earth-shattering.

"Did you know that my father has the world's third largest forearm hair? Being large travels in the family." Wink wink.

He sat, quite some time later, in the chair she had previously rested in. Yes, he would admit it was a rather bad pickup line, but not so bad that she needed to hex his bits on his face so that "the world could see how 'bloody large' he was." Ah well. At least she understood innuendo.


	3. Impress Her with Nonsense

Impress Her With… Nonsense? 

"Psh! I don't have a conscience. I laugh in the face of consciousness!"

She stared coolly at him. "That was good, Malfoy, really. You almost made sense for once. Keep up the good work."

And she left him, staring with his jaw dropped, until he realized someone might come along and see him. But damn, confidence was hot on her.

A/N: I don't really like this one, but hell. Posting things is just fun.


	4. Impress Her with Relaxation Techniques

Impress Her with Relaxation Techniques

She loved Malfoy. She really did. Especially on this sacred third Tuesday of the month of October. Why was it sacred? Oh, only because Malfoy put half a slug into their Calming Draught when _clearly_ only three-eights was needed. And so, their potion got an Acceptable.

Acceptable. With a capital A. And no 'O's in the word whatsoever. No 'Outstanding's. Not even 'Exceeds Expectations.' Just…acceptable.

She thought she would kill him now. And then Obliviate everyone in the classroom who had observed her Epic Fail of existence. Psh! As if the earth had not ceased to spin on its slightly tilted axis! They just went on with life as normal, when clearly life was over. At least for her. And, well, him (after she killed him).

And then, after damning her to a lifetime of misery and smelly cellmates, he had the _nerve_ to wait for her outside of the classroom. And he was _smiling_. On this most heinous of occasions! All hesitations were past now. No more "Is this technically ethical?" or "Might I possibly be overreacting?" It was simply D-Day. Death Day. For Malfoy.

She marched towards him with her wand oh-so-casually pointed ramrod straight in front of her, and he pushed his limber form off the wall on which he had been leaning.

Now, she was a fair witch, so she thought she'd give him a chance to explain himself before she cut off his life force. She stopped, right in front of him, and tapped her foot in a murderous way. If that is possible.

He leaned down so that his mouth was situated right next to her ear, and breathed, "If you're waiting for an explanation, I don't really have one. I just thought you of all people needed to lighten up a bit. You know, experience how the other half lives." And he left her, practically in the middle of the corridor, sputtering to herself, and scaring Mrs. Norris out of her next three lives.

He…that stupid bloody bastard…had ruined her perfect record so that she could lighten up a bit? Ha. Hehe. Hoho. Alright. She would change her plans. She wouldn't kill him. Today.

She would swoop down on his third granddaughter's fourteenth half-birthday, where he would be unsuspectingly eating way too much cake, and developing a pot belly. There he would stand, fat and bald, and then BAM! She would give him a cavity. That'll teach him not to eat so many sweets.

Hermione walked down the passage, contemplating the joys of being a dentist's daughter. Life was good, once again.


	5. Impress Her with Your Deformities

Impress Her with Your Deformities

She hated her hands. Her ugly, stubby, nasty little hands with the nails all scraggly and mostly chewed off. They weren't dainty and feminine looking like they were supposed to be. Even ugly girls, like Parkinson, had beautiful hands. She sometimes secretly coveted them. Yes. Her hands were that ugly that she yearned for Parkinson's hands. Nasty, eh?

She sat contemplating her terrible turn in life, and wondering if she could still live if she cut both her hands off, when he sat down next to her, and placed his right hand casually on the table. Oh, but she was jealous. His white and slender hand was practically perfect in every way. She wondered if he would notice if she cast a Switching spells on their hands, and thought he probably would. If it was Ron, a different story. She didn't want Ron's hands; they were horridly dirty and freakishly long. But his hands… she would go as far to say she lusted after them.

Just after she determined she would chop off her wrists with a guillotine, he lifted his right hand off the table, stared significantly at her, and raised only his pinky. Ramrod straight. She quirked an eyebrow. What the hell was he doing? And then he took his left hand out of his robe pocket, and raised his other little finger. She stared in shock.

Why, this one wasn't perfect at all! He must've broken his pinky at some point in time, because it was terribly crooked and unattractive. She looked at both his pinkies, and then straightened her own to gaze at. Hers were wonderfully vertical, and ideal in every way. She stopped pondering hand-suicide, and raised her head up to thank him. But he was gone.

Blast Malfoy! This would probably be the only time she would've ever said something nice to him. Ah well, it was probably for the best. Otherwise, her reputation would've been ruined.

A/N: Malfoy's pinky is Mary Poppins! How many of you picked up on that?


	6. Impress Her with Your Lack of Planning

Impress Her with Your Total Lack of Planning Skills

She was not expecting it while walking with Harry and Ron from the Quidditch Pitch to the Gryffindor common room. Quite frankly, she wasn't expecting it at all. One minute she was pretending to have enjoyed match and have the slightest idea as to what Ron was babbling about (Blatching? Was that even a word?), and the next she was being attacked by a rather smelly pile of green robes. With lips. Reasonably nice lips, to be precise. Especially when this person put them… hmm… there. She decided she was fairly fond of being attacked this way, and was about to proceed and assault back, when the person was pulled off of her.

She blinked owlishly. And then again. Clearly her vision was out of wack. Was she wearing Harry's glasses again (like in that cruel prank back in 5th year?)? She waved her hand over her face. Nope. That was still him, struggling in Harry's arms, as Ron was going through what looked like asphyxiation. Green robes. Smelly. Lips. Blond hair. Grey eyes.

She shuddered. And then walked away. She would now try to pretend like his lips were not at one point attached to her face. Bugger.

A/N: According to Wikipedia's article on Quidditch, Blatching: No player may fly with the intent to collide. Eheh. I'll blatch you if you don't review.

Wahah! My first review threat! Was it good and ominous? Alas, an oxymoron.


	7. Impress Her with Gifts of Lurve

Impress Her With Gifts of Lurve…

He thrust a large bunch of purplish flowers in her face. They smelled rather funny. But she said thank you, and tried to look appropriately… excited? Nervous? Ecstatic? Whatever the word was.

He was babbling on about how he knew she'd appreciate them, because they were expensive, and therefore lovely. She marveled at his logic, and felt a sneeze coming on. She asked what they were.

He told her they were a rare breed of wizarding lavender that only grew on the west side of Mt. Everest, and it was damned hard to get people to go and pick them.

He looked expectantly at her.

She sneezed on him.

And then she said, "I'm allergic to lavender."

And left.

They weren't that expensive anyway, he told himself.


	8. Impress Her with Your Hotness

Impress Her with Your Hotness

She was unprepared for it. She would admit that, at least. She did not see it coming.

She was standing in the corridor outside of the Great Hall, waiting for Harry and Ron to come out after lunch. They only had 35 minutes to get to Potions. How long did it take to scarf down five courses?

She was tapping her foot impatiently, when she saw Him. Who was he? She was pretty sure he was God. Or Jesus, minus the scraggy beard. Whoever he was, he was SMOKIN'. And she meant this in a totally non-sexist, intellectually stimulating way. Yes.

Anyway, she was staring with jaw dropped –yes; she would admit it- as He sashayed down the aisle (Could boys even do that? She prayed he wasn't gay. Not that she had a problem with gay people. It was just she didn't know the spell to turn herself into a man for him. Yet.).

Down the aisle apparently meant closer to her. His chest (and, well, the rest of him) swayed nearer and nearer to her, and then-

"Pick up your jaw, Granger, before your precious house elves do it for you."

…

…

…bloody hell. That was all she could say when Harry and Ron asked what was wrong. Bloody effing hell.

Draco Malfoy without hair gel. Phew. This was the only day she would ever admit the Ferret was sexy.

Until he did it the next day. And the next day.

Oh bloody hell. She would send him some gel for Christmas. At least then she'd get some fricking peace of mind. But then she'd have to get different wanking material.

Bugger. It was a right dilemma.


	9. Impress Her with Your Suave Ways

Impress Her with Your Suave Ways (You Sexy Thang)

"Are you wet for me, kitten?" he purred.

She stared at him in shock, and then pulled away from his lap.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I thought I could do this, but I can't. Not with a boy that compares me to small cats in the midst of foreplay. Work on your sex talk, and then come see me. Maybe we can try it again then."

And then she walked away. Kitten? Seriously? She muttered, "Bah. Perverts these days."

A/N: Malfoy is not a word in the English language. I think I shall create my own, where there is only three words: Slytherin, Malfoy, Hot. There will also be a large supplement of interpretive dance. Any takers?


	10. Impress Her with a New You

Impress Her with a New You

He could tell that sometimes she believed he really didn't like her. It was in the slight cringing every time he would lean down to kiss her nose and the distant look in her eyes when he called her a sickly sweet pet name. He could tell that she doubted him, and her feelings, and his feelings. It hurt, but he could understand where she was coming from. After all, not a single person thought they belonged together. Sometimes even she didn't.

And so, these conclusions had brought him to a horridly half-assed plan that he thought might actually work. If he could pull it off.

He leaned against a wall outside of her Muggle Studies room, practicing his lines silently as he waited for class to be dismissed. It wouldn't do to say things incorrectly after he had worked this hard. Finally, the door opened, and he had to endure the stares of seventeen gawking Gryffindors. Because of course she was the last person out the door, always eager to retain more knowledge. This wasn't a bad thing. It was just essentially her. She looked up, and he saw The Look before she smiled at him. He hoped to Goddess he would never see The Look again. After his entirely successful plan (wishful thinking).

He pushed off the wall, and came to walk beside her to the Great Hall. He felt his palms get sweaty, and hoped that those magazines were right.

She glanced at him, and asked if he was quite alright.

Moment of triumph. This was it. The Big One. He exhaled noisily, and said, "Of course I am, ho. What you be trippin' about?"

Her eyes widened, and she didn't give him the look. He was so busy doing a congratulatory dance on the inside that he didn't notice the Other Look.

He did notice it when she started hitting his arm repeatedly and shrieking words like 'bastard,' 'prick,' and 'wanker' in the same sentence.

He caught her clenched fist, and asked rather angrily, "Why are you punching me after I immersed myself in your bloody Muggleborn culture, and I read all these stupid magazines about terms of endearment and such rot? I went to a giant building _full_ of Muggles to listen to how teenage couples talk to each other. And now you're hurting me for it? Gah! Muggles are so stupid."

Her eyes softened, and she gave him an entirely new Look. But he didn't see it, as he was ducking under his fringe, and trying to pretend like he had a speck stuck in his cornea.

But he heard The Sigh, and he felt her head rest on his shoulder. That was nearly as good as her saying she believed in them.

And he would take as good as he could get.


	11. Impress Her with Prose

Impress Her with Prose

She dragged her teeth across his shoulder, and he shuddered in ecstasy. "Oh, Petals. You are my one and only love," he murmured breathily.

She snorted rather loudly, and replied, "Oh, Twinkletoes. You make my heart take wing like a dying manticore takes to the air for a final flight."

He pulled away from her lovely teeth and her not-so-lovely mouth, and pouted. "Why, Bubbles? Why must you treat your lover so cruelly? Are we not residing in the Meadow of Love and Eternal Happiness? Why do you not feel my passionate lurve for you in my rapidly beating cardiovascular organ?"

She laughed shortly, as he did a wonderful impression of a wounded Crup. "I'm sorry. I truly am. It's just that this isn't a Drarry slash story where you have to be the effeminate one who has to love shopping and other various stereotypical Bottom activities. Need I remind you that you top in this relationship? Well, most of the time."

He blinked, and shook his head a few times, as if coming out of a trance. And then he grabbed her, crushed her form to his chest, and growled, "You talk too damn much during foreplay. I can think of better things you can do with that mouth."

So could she. So she did just that.

A/N: This is inspired by bookworm708, who told me kitten was a better nickname than Bubbles or Petals. Do you still think so? 


	12. Impress Her with Your Oral Capacities

Impress Her with Your Oral Capacities

It was disgusting. It was horrific. It was ungodly.

But somehow, she found it hot.

This was the point when she realized she should sign herself up for the asylum.

Because, seriously. She had a problem. She had reconciled herself to the fact that she had a slight crush on him, on bad days she would use the word 'infatuation.' And that was okay. Every hormonal teenager had them. But this… she would be willing to bet twenty galleons that no other person in the world would find this sight remotely sexy. Perhaps she had a multiple-personality disorder. Where the person was from another planet, and social taboos were a form of courting there.

Back to the point. He was just sitting there, in the Great Hall, unaware of the conversations around him. People were calling his mother a sex-deprived goblin! How great was his enjoyment of that –dare she call it food- that he would take insults to his parental figures lying down? Well, eating while sitting. But, he was doing nothing to disprove the point that his mum had once dry humped Mad-Eye Moody!

Really. How could he make something so nasty look so… delectable? The way his tongue snaked out to get a crumb before it would fall to the table below. The way his eyes closed as he swallowed –like he was in the midst of a mind-blowing orgasm. But the thing that undid her was The Groan. Oh God. It was the most utterly debauched sound she had ever heard. If she had a certain dilemma like Ron did (there was a reason they weren't together anymore), she would've come right there and then. Luckily for her (and not for Ron), she had more, shall we say, endurance. And willpower. Though she was considerably lacking in the latter at the moment.

Alright. This was enough torture. She knew what she wanted. And she was going to go after it. Damned straight! She wanted him to moan like that above her, or under her. Pick a position. She wasn't picky. And to learn what made him do that, well…

She would eat SPAM fritters. She shuddered.

That coming sex better be damn good.

A/N: Is that more awesome and inventive than chocolate syrup, Corinne? I just looked up the most disgusting foods on Yahoo! Images, and I thought, "Heck. Fried SPAM. Eat your heart out, Draco!"


	13. Impress Her with Viewpoints

Impress Her with Viewpoints

Harry and Ron were highly suspicious. No, they were not selling illegal magical creatures or getting high on pixie dust; they were suspicious of something. Or someone. Most specifically, of Malfoy and the indiscernible looks he had been giving Hermione lately. Of course, she didn't notice them. Too busy studying, poor dear. And then, there were those moments were Malfoy thought he was alone. Like when he was in his bedroom. By himself. Jacking off. To Hermione's name. Those moments made Harry and Ron highly suspicious.

Therefore, they resolved to have a "talk" with Malfoy. Which would involve Harry steadily beating Malfoy to a pulp, and Ron screaming at his unconscious form, "She's mine, you bastard!"

Talks were always good for the soul.

They were on their way to the Room of Requirement, where they had cordially invited Malfoy to converse with them (i.e.: Harry had sent a letter to the effect of, "Come fight with me, you poncey wanker!"), when Luna Lovegood intercepted them. Or rather, she stalked towards them until they were cowering on the wall. At yet, she still had a dreamy air about her. Wondrous girl, she was.

She stared up at them pensively, as if they were a rather thought-provoking modern art piece. It made Ron feel like he was seven years old again, and Fred and George had stolen his teddy bear. Again. Harry, on the other hand, felt rather warm, and noticed that her eyes were a lovely shade of blue. He also noticed she had nice breasts. What? He was a man, after all. She spoke very softly, yet they caught every syllable.

"Did you know that the man-eating Ribbajack is drawn to confrontations and deceptions? He protects the victim, and eats the perpetrators after a long and drawn-out vicious process. You see, his long, jagged teeth slowly rip the first layer of flesh from the person's bones, and tear away at the muscle strips until they look like candy floss. And then he takes the bone and sucks all the marrow out. And then" –By this time Ron was a mass of freckles and bloodless flesh, and Harry was rather aroused. He did love naughty talk. –"the Ribbajack slowly reaches inside his torn and ragged jacket pocket, grins murderously, and fills your bones with Nargles. You'll never get away from that infestation, no matter how many times you bathe in mustard and stay away from mistletoe."

She smiled, whispered something in Harry's ear that made him growl, and said Boo to Ron. He flinched massively, and pissed his pants. Luna sauntered away, and Harry followed her with his possessive gaze. He cleared his throat, adjusted his robes, and said, "You know, mate, I just realized something. I forgot to finish my Herbology essay. I should…erm…go to the library."

Ron nodded jerkily, and muttered something about having to stay in that spot for the next three hours or so. Harry fled the corridor towards the Room, and popped his head in. Malfoy swiveled around, and said, "Look, Potter. I don't want to fight you. Let's be mature, yeah?"

Harry concurred hastily. "Listen, Malf-Draco. I changed my mind. I don't want to fight you either. I had something come up, so you know what you can do instead? Fuck Hermione. Seriously. You have my blessing, or whatever. Date her, shag her, do what you want. Now I'm exceedingly late for a… study session I have. So, good luck!"

And he ran out the door, to start his "study session" with Luna Lovegood. She did know Herbology _quite_ well.

Draco was rather shocked. But his "Hello, I don't want to fight you; I want to marry your best friend" plan had worked out rather well.

Funny. He had somewhat expected to be beaten into a bloody pulp and have his unconscious form screamed at.

A/N: There you are, Corinne. Ron, Harry, Luna, _and_ Draco. Plus a "talk." Hehe. I do love "talks," don't you? 

A Note to Readers: Chapters 1-10 are actually a story from the happy couple's first meeting to their actual successful relationship. After that, it's just me randomly deciding to write a drabble for a prompt or some interesting phrase I heard. Happy readings!


	14. Impress Her with Stolen Little Moments

Impress Her with Stolen Little Moments

He sometimes thought of himself as a romantic. Not often. But enough that he would dream of doing something that would make her swoon like a heroine straight out of a penny novel. Sometimes he would dream, sometimes he would do.

* * *

Do:

She was studying for a Charms test that was four months away (she had badgered Flitwick until he gave her his syllabus for the next two years). To most people, she would not be attractive at that moment. Her hair, haphazardly done up in a bun, with most pieces out of the arrangement instead of in it. Her face, horridly scrunched up, as she memorized incantation after incantation. Her incessant mumbling of Latin words and instructions. That was not what society considered eye-catching.

But to him, she was Aphrodite. A goddess in a school uniform. Ethereal, gorgeous, all the other pansy-like words he could think of –she was. And while he was in this poetic state of mind, he might as well do something pansy-like. He pointed his wand towards her, and whispered, "_Pulchros Orchideous_."

She didn't notice it floating towards her, like the rest of the library did. She didn't hear the frantic whispering stop, and then after a few heartbeats, start again. She didn't see all the shocked faces or feel the wonder of those students. She did, however, sense the object tapping lightly on the top of her head. She ignored it at first, because her studies were infinitely more important. But it didn't go away. She glanced up in annoyance, and gasped.

There before her were the most lovely orchids she had ever seen, wrapped together with a silky ribbon. A note was tucked into the stems, and she pulled it out with shaky hands. It read:

_An orchid is both stunning and rare, but your beauty transcends an entire bouquet of them. _

She was shocked, flattered, and suspected she was blushing mightily. She packed up her things, gingerly took the spray of flowers, and left the library to go find Ron. She would show him how wrong he was when he said only a troll would find her nice-looking. Like trolls knew what orchids were.

He smiled to himself. Her eyes, shining with happiness, made up for all the moments of masculine insecurity he would have from this event.

* * *

Dream:

She was chopping up valerian roots for her Draught of Living Death. Her face was deep set in concentration, making sure each slice was exactly three-fifths of a centimeter. She carefully raised her knife and cut the root parallel to the edge of her table. She was methodical. She was precise.

He found it fascinating. He daydreamed about her while he stirred his own potion.

_She was chopping up valerian roots for her Draught of Living Death. Her face was deep set in concentration, making sure each slice was exactly three-fifths of a centimeter. She was so caught up in being precise she didn't notice cutting her own finger. And then the sharp sting hit her. She gasped softly, and tried to Episkey it. And then remembered the knife she used in Potions was magic-proof, so therefore the cut was also. She cursed under her breath. If she got blood in her potion, she might as well kiss her perfect average goodbye. Her morbid thoughts occupied her, and she didn't see him approaching her. _

_He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped it around her finger tenderly. She gazed up at him in gratitude, and perhaps a bit more. He drew a shaky breath, and leaned towards her. Their faces grew closer and closer and-_

"Mr. Malfoy! Get your face away from your cauldron! If you breathe in too many fumes, you'll… faint. Oh, dear. Will someone kindly get Madame Pomfrey?"

He spent two weeks in the infirmary. Apparently, stirring the Draught thirty-seven times instead of seven made it infinitely more powerful. So powerful that inhaling it would cause the same effect as drinking it. And Slughorn had no Wiggenweld Potion on hand. Some Potions Master he was. He was put on probation for not properly supervising students and using his spare time unwisely.

But like Slughorn told Dumbledore, look on the bright side of it. At least they weren't brewing a Shrinking Solution.

That would've been a lot more paperwork.

* * *

A/N: According to The Language of Flowers, an orchid means love, beauty, refinement, you flatter me, or mature charm. I was kind of going for beauty.

_Pulchros Orchideous_ roughly translated means beautiful flowers. Orchideous is a spell from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and Pulcher- is Latin for beautiful. Although I'm fairly certain I completely botched that grammar. Ah, well. Many thanks to MagicRoxSox for catching my "bellus" mistake! ;)

The Draught of Living Death is a potion that causes the drinker to go into a deep, death-like sleep. It can be remedied with the Wiggenweld Potion.


	15. Impress Her with Delicacy and Tact

Impress Her with Delicacy and Tact

He was, at the moment, entirely a normal teenage boy. Not a suspected Death Eater, not a Slytherin, not a hater of Mudbloods.

Oh yes. At the moment, he was _definitely_ not a hater of Mudbloods. Especially Granger. Right now, he was loving Granger. One could substitute the verb in that sentence for lusting, but he digressed.

To be more specific, as a Malfoy should be, he was loving Granger's body. Of course, she had no knowledge of this.

Just like she had no knowledge of him floating outside her window on his Nimbus 3000 in the pouring rain.

He had been flying around the Quidditch pitch aimlessly, cursing Potter and bemoaning his life in general. And then he had been flying around the castle angrily, still cursing Potter and occasionally adding a few rants about being a horny adolescent male.

He was just about to head in when he saw a flash of red from one of the windows he had swooped by. He sneered. No doubt a Weasley brat had come in from its life of poverty and loneliness. Perhaps he should send a hex through the window, to show that someone "cared" for him/her. He dived closer, only to see a bushy head of hair on top of the red. Why, it was Granger! Wearing an ugly Weasley pullover, which made her close enough to his original target.

He was deciding in between making her teeth grow again and giving her warts, when his thought process was unexpectedly stopped.

Granger had taken off her nasty maroon jumper.

Granger had taken off her nasty maroon jumper.

He had to repeat that, because of the fact that under the horrid sweater, Granger had a body.

Well, of course she had a body. But, hot damn! Did she have a _body_! It was all… y'know, and Draco was like… UH-HUH!

Suffice to say Granger was indeed a woman.

It started raining. Correction, it was pouring Crups and owls. Draco was about to leave…

And then she started unbuttoning her shirt. In front of the window. Which Draco was looking through.

It was a good life he led.

Her fingers reached towards the end of the buttons, and Draco reached the end of his broom, and he and the shirt fell off together.

Just kidding. Draco stayed on.

Barely.

And this was only her back he was viewing. Oh, he hoped that she would turn around, as he quickly cast a Disillusionment charm upon himself. She slowly pivoted, as Draco urged her on mentally. Bit farther, just a little more, almost payday, -!

Oh God. It was a travesty.

A felony of fashion, a crime of couture. Draco stared, jaw dropped. How could she-? How long did-? It was merely an offense against nature.

Granger stood there, with all her half-clothed glory, in a nasty, ill-fitting, dirty white bra.

Draco almost preferred her dressed.

He couldn't even imagine the state her underwear was in, and certainly didn't want to stick around to see the atrocity.

He left, heartsick and soaking wet.

As he entered the Slytherin common room, still in a dismal mood, he was accosted by Pansy.

"Ooh, Drakie!" she cooed. "Wouldn't you like to come up to my room? I just got a new outfit I'd simply looove to show you."

"Not now, Pansy," he sighed. "I've just suffered a terrible disappointment, and I have to get over it. In private. By myself."

She was not deterred. "But, Drakie! It's a certain type of clothing that I'm sure you'll looove," she purred, as she grabbed his arm.

"Unhand me, woman!" he exclaimed. "I'm depressed, and I need silence, not incessant babbling about unknown garments!"

Finally, she put herself in his path, shoved her face towards his ear, and whispered, "It's lingerie. I just received it by owl. And I know you want to see this. It's sexy, believe me."

He was frustrated with her lack of understanding the word 'no.' And then- it hit him. Lingerie. Hmm…

"Now, Pansy. Darling. This new… attire you have. Did you possibly get it by catalogue?"

"Why yes, lover!" she said happily, and pulled out a magazine. "I always get my new things from Morgan Le Fay's Magical Moments!"

He grabbed it hastily, and cried, "Pansy! I abhor your taste in lingerie! I shall have to look for a suitable replacement for your monstrosity!" And he hurried up to his room.

Pansy looked confused as everyone laughed at her. "But… you haven't even… seen it yet…"

He locked his door quickly, and threw himself on his bed. He opened the publication, and whimpered happily. _These _things he could imagine Granger in easily. He flipped pages eagerly, and took in sight after sight. And then he saw it. The One. Good Lord, he could wank to that image for the rest of his life. Granger in that outfit, ooh. He called for his owl Gianfar, and scrawled rapidly on a piece of parchment.

He told Gianfar, "When they give you the package, take it to Hermione Granger at breakfast. You know Granger, right? Bushy hair, talks loudly, great body, totally hot…" Gianfar hooted indignantly. Of course he knew who she was. And she wasn't that hot. Not as good-looking as her best friend's owl, Hedwig. Sheesh. Gianfar went owl treats for her.

He flew off into the rainy night, and Draco flopped down on his back. Tomorrow morning, Draco would get the treat of his life. He slowly fell asleep, visions of scantily-clad Grangers dancing through his mind.

The next day at brekkers, Draco watched the sky anxiously for large packages. The catalogue had said one night shipping! He was so intent on his task, he didn't even tell Pansy off for putting her nasty paws all over him. And then he saw Gianfar soaring over the Gryffindor table with a big parcel. He dropped it in Granger's lap, and flew back to the owlery. She looked bewildered, but started to open it. Draco leaned forward until he hit the table with Pansy's hand (that was currently on his stomach). She shrieked, but he didn't pay her any mind.

Hermione was minding her own business, when all of a sudden, some random owl dropped a huge and heavy box in her lap. She didn't know what it was, for she hadn't ordered anything except for the- ah. Her new copy of Hogwarts, A History: The 178th Edition had come early! She eagerly tore at the wrapping, threw back the tissue paper, and… certainly didn't find a book.

She was staring at the items in shock, when Ron leaned over with his mouth full of eggs, and said, "Wash dat?" And then proceeded to spit his yolk all over Harry's face.

Sputtering, he shouted, "Hermione! Why are you buying scarlet women's knickers?"

And the Great Hall went dead quiet.

And Hermione turned as scarlet as a scarlet woman.

And Ron reached over gingerly, and pulled out a lingerie set. A red lacy corset that was see-through in the parts that most definitely should've been solid, complete with almost transparent garter belt. And then he took the knickers, which was undeniably a piece of cling wrap with a… was that a hole in it? Oh, sweet lordy.

Someone had bought Hermione Granger crotchless panties.

There were no words.

But apparently, there were. Because, dangling from the…err… _part_ of the underwear was a note.

_Granger: So Weasley isn't disgusted by your crumbling cotton rags while fornicating. _

Hermione grabbed the note, and the lingerie, and stalked out of the Great Hall.

Aah. Draco wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. Sometimes he was a genius. Other times, he was fucking brilliant.

**The next day, at breakfast:**

Draco saw Granger walk in, head held high. He was proud of her. She dropped her book bag on the ground next to her table, and leaned down to get something out of it.

She was wearing his corset.

Under her school uniform.

That gave a whole new meaning to the word 'fantasy.'

A/N: Gianfar means "dragon." It is the Lambda Dra star in the Draco constellation. Draco got him when he turned eleven, as a gift for getting in to Hogwarts. He was going to name him Ascella, which means armpit, but his mother wouldn't allow it.

Just a bit of background info. :)

Written for the prompt: have Draco pick out some lingerie for Hermione.


	16. Hermione Impresses Herself

Hermione Impresses Herself 

NOTE: This takes places after

Hermione grabbed the note, and the lingerie, and stalked out of the Great Hall.

In Impress Her with Delicacy and Tact.

It's a part two, of sorts. Enjoy!

Hermione shut the door to her bedroom. She wheezed heavily, and clutched the box to her chest.

How bloody embarrassing was that. To have someone not only have sent her knickers at breakfast (which was a revered time of day anyway), but to have stupid fucking Ron hold them up to show the entire school?

Was nothing sacred? Like, for example, _her sanity_. Mayhaps.

Oh God. The person had talked about her 'crumbling cotton rags.' That meant some pervert had been spying on her while she was undressing. So this wasn't just a cruel joke. She had a _stalker_.

A stalker who apparently thought she was sexy, otherwise he (she hoped it was a he. And not Millicent Bulstrode, who stared at her creepily in the bathroom. She shuddered.) wouldn't have sent her _this_ kind of underwear.

Well. She hoped he was hot.

That was enough un-Hermione Granger-like thought for one day. She would now deduct who had sent her the lingerie, track them down, and hex them or snog them, depending on how good-looking they were.

Finally, she had a Plan. She scurried over to her bed, flopped down on it, and took out the note. It was printed, which meant she had no way of detecting a magical signature, so she moved on to the actual words themselves.

_Granger: So Weasley isn't disgusted by your crumbling cotton rags while fornicating. _

It had to have come from someone at Hogwarts, because he had seen her undressing. Which probably meant he had watched her from her window (she made a mental note to buy some curtains and a Peeping Tom squealer from Fred and George).

No professor would've sent it besides Snape, and she rather thought he was too discrete to send that type of thing.

No one in Gryffindor called her Granger.

She didn't know any males in Hufflepuff besides Justin Finch-Fletchley (gay) and Ernie McMillan (she didn't think he knew what a corset was. Or for that matter, that girls fornicated.)

In Ravenclaw, she knew two guys. One was Terry Boot, who was currently dating the fifth year Hermione tutored in Charms, so she doubted Boot would want to piss her off. The other boy was Jonathan, who she suspected lived in the Muggle Fantasy section of the library. He actually thought her first name was Granger, and he had told her that she was the first girl he had ever talked to. She really didn't want to think about him thinking about her body, so she crossed him off the list.

And then, there was Slytherin. Ah, Slytherin. The house she should've started with. All of the boys there either called her Granger or Mudblood. Nott didn't know her name (he was a caller of Mudbloods), Zabini was too high class to send underwear in public (though she wouldn't mind him sending it in private. What? He was handsome, and she was a teenage girl. She had her dreams, thank you very much.), and Crabbe/Goyle? She didn't think that they could spell their middle names, much less 'fornicating.'

That left Malfoy. He seemed the perfect candidate. Nasty package. Nasty note. Perverted intentions. Yep. It was most definitely him. At least, she was 99.97% sure. But to satisfy the .03% of her mind, she would conduct a little… experiment.

Because Hermione Granger was always thorough.

**The next day, at breakfast:**

She was a tad nervous, about the stares and whispers there were bound to be. But she thought she could do it if she focused on the Plan.

She straightened her posture, shouldered her bookbag, and marched into the Great Hall, head held high.

Right away, everything went silent. And yet she walked, onward and ahead. She reached the Gryffindor table, dropped her bookbag on the ground, and leaned forward to "get something out of it."

She peeked at his face through her curls.

He looked rather funny with bug-eyes.

But still hot.

She hoped she would get new lingerie soon. But until then, she would have some fun with him.

In Transfiguration, she "dropped" her wand in front of him. As she came back up, she popped open the first button on her shirt.

"Hot in here, isn't it?" He gulped, and shifted his legs.

In Charms, she somehow managed to get her shirt caught on a branch she was trying to levitate. The branch almost ripped her shirt clear off her body! Nearly.

He started sweating.

In Potions, she undid three more buttons. You could almost see the corset without her bending over. As she accidentally dropped her Mandrake root in front of his lab station, he finally exploded.

"Damn it, Granger! That is it! The final bloody straw! Either you button up your shirt, or so help me God, I will do it for you!"

She winked at him, and told him he could do it after class.

She expected a blue corset any day now.

After all, red really wasn't her best color.


	17. Impress Her with Romantic Getaways

Impress Her with Romantic Getaways

She was walking to Charms, and didn't look where she was going.

Her head was buried in her bookbag as she frantically tried to find a mirror. Snape hadn't told her if her potion had worked correctly, and she only had an hour until it wore off. Why couldn't she be an airhead who carried seven mirrors on her person alone?

She saw a glimpse of silver in the far-reaching corners of her bag, and was about to grab it when she was pulled into an empty classroom by a pair of strong arms.

She let out a startled squeak, and the person quickly put his hand over her mouth. She saw another flash of silver, and thought of Malfoy. But then thoughts were driven out of her head by lips replacing the hand on her mouth.

His lips were soft, and surprisingly warm. They molded themselves to her mouth, and his hands crept up her body. He tangled one in hair, and cupped her cheek with the other.

Well. She could now testify that he got the reputation as a Slytherin Snog God for a reason.

But this wasn't right! She remembered the potion, and thought it was wrong to deceive him like this. He had a right to know what he was doing.

So she reluctantly broke the kiss, and whispered, "Draco-"

He shook his head, and she could see his shining profile from the crack of light under the door. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just saw you walking, and you looked so beautiful. I just wanted this little moment. So… just don't ruin it by saying anything, okay? We can talk later. Now, can't we just…"

She understood, and took pity on him. She shut him up by nudging their faces together. And it was a little messy at first, but then they just kind of… aligned. And she thought that this was damn close to Heaven.

And then his tongue tentatively ran across her bottom lip. She felt like she was on fire, everywhere he touched. His warmth ran everywhere, and she wondered how she had ever lived with being so cold before him.

She opened her mouth, and their virginal kiss got a little less sweet and innocent.

She didn't know how it happened, but somehow her leg ended up wrapped around his waist. And somehow his hand had gotten in between her bra and her skin. And somehow they were dry-humping against a stone wall.

Somehow.

And then it was over –all too fast and yet forever- and he was breathing heavily and their foreheads were touching and they were gazing into each other's eyes.

She was pretty sure that Lavender would call this a Moment.

He kissed her gently on the top of her head, readjusted her robes, and murmured, "I'll see you later, Pans. Thank you."

And he left, as she slowly slid down the wall to collect her thoughts.

One: She had missed her first class in her entire life. But if all kisses were like that, she would miss a helluva lot more.

Two: She would need more boomslang skin. This meant sneaking into Snape's private stores, but it would be worth it.

Three: She would have to beat up Parkinson to get some of her hair. She really didn't have a problem with this part of the list.

She watched her legs slowly get longer, and her arms get paler.

And then Hermione Granger marched out of the empty classroom, like a woman with a Plan.

As she hastily entered Transfiguration and sat down, she felt paper crinkle in her pocket.

She pulled it out, and gasped in shock. Her head rose to meet his amused gaze, and she blushed heavily.

Well. The plan was a bust. But she could still beat up Parkinson for old time's sake.

_As a couple feverishly tore at each other in the Room of Requirement, a piece of parchment fluttered from a mangled robe…_

_Granger,_

_If you're going to attempt to pass off as Parkinson, you'll need a few more lessons. Say, tonight, RoR, at eight? _

_-D_

A/N: Written for prompt: Draco drags Hermione into an abandoned classroom. Thank you, margaritama!

It's a little weird, but… eh. I like it. :)


	18. Impress Her with New Horizons

Impress Her with New Horizons

She hated flying. And he damned well knew it.

In fact, she was pretty sure that the entire school knew that the great Hermione Granger was absurdly and irrevocably terrified of a wooden stick stuck to straw.

People thought it was an irrational fear and that she was had a stick up her ass, as usual. She thought it was entirely reasonable, not trusting a two-inch wide stick to hold her body weight up one hundred feet in the air.

But then, most people weren't as smart as her. So they flew on their tiny branches, and they would fall off, and break appendages. And she would laugh at them silently, while outwardly showing concern. But inside, how she laughed. Stupid buggers.

True, that only happened to about one in a thousand people, but Fate was unchangingly random, and you never knew if you were next.

So, she preferred to stay on the ground, where she could safely shake her fist at Destiny.

Apparently, her fist had done too much brandishing, and Providence was coming back to bite her in the arse.

Why else would she be on the back of a Nimbus 3000, death-gripping the boy in front of her?

Oh. Right.

Because Draco-bloody-Malfoy had said, "Trust me."

And she did. Had. Oh, she didn't know! Why must everything in life be so confusing? She hypothesized she had said yes, for he swooped upon her, and snogged her fiercely.

Hermione supposed that part of it wasn't too bad. He was a rather nice kisser. For a prat.

She had thought him incredibly romantic, with the sweeping of her into his arms, and the covering of her eyes, and the whispers of lovely surprises drifting to her ears.

She had felt them descend staircase after staircase, all the while sweet nothings murmured to her. And then she felt the sharp cold of outside, and snuggled deeper into his robes.

She thought of picnics on the grounds, and walks in the twilight. It never crossed her mind that he would do _this_.

But he did. That horrible, nasty, no-good boyfriend of her practically dumped her on a broom, jumped on in front of her, and then zoomed off before she could protest or hex her bum to the ground.

And now, she was tightly pressed against his back, eyes closed forcefully, and fervently praying to whatever gods existed that she would just come down!

She felt him shift, and lean back to her.

He used the same soothing tone he had used when he found her huddled in some Library corner, after Ron had tried to come on to her.

"Hermione, love. It's not that bad. We're no more than twenty feet off the ground, and the weather's perfect. At least look around, please? What are you scared off? You know I'll always catch you before you even think of falling."

She knew. But it was just so hard to come to the edge of her cliff and leap, merely because he asked her to!

But she would do it. Because it was him, and she knew he would jump off the cliff first, so she would have something soft to land on.

She took a deep breath, and peeked a tiny bit from the corners of her eyes.

She saw blue. Lots and lots of blue. And a bird that looked at her strangely. She stuck her tongue out at it, and giggled softly. It was actually quite pretty up her, just her and Draco and a few birdies.

One could say it was in fact romantic, she supposed.

And then she timidly asked, "Can we go higher?"

She didn't have to see him to know his smile broke the sun.

A/N: Written for prompt by margaritama –Draco, Hermione, flying… I figured out the rest. :]


	19. Impress Her with Heroic Rescues

Impress Her with Heroic Rescues

She was studying in the library for their next Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. It was her worst subject, and the only one that Harry was beating her in this year. Psh. Just because the teacher was his godfather, he got the better grade.

She felt immediately guilty for that thought. Of course Harry wouldn't do that. He was simply more adept at DADA than she was. Which was the reason she was in here frantically memorizing her book, so that she could defeat him triumphantly, through the power of knowledge. Yes.

She was looking up ways to trap and skin Hinkypunks, when she felt the chair next to her slide out, and an arm reach around her shoulder.

"Hello, Ron," she murmured distractedly. "I'm quite busy now, and I don't have time to do your homework for you. Sorry. _Now if you take the skin and slice it down the middle, you can peel it from either side…_"

She felt his arm grow tighter around her, and she absentmindedly brushed him off. He put it back quickly, and squished her body closer to him. She looked up at him angrily, and exclaimed, "Ronald! This is no time for play! I have to study, and you have to go away!"

He made a scrunched up face, wiggled his nose at her, and said in a scratchy voice, "I can think of something you can study up close."

(A/N: This is Ron. Attempting to be a seducer. So replace it with: He gazed at her with molten eyes, raised one eyebrow, and whispered huskily, "I want to fuck you." Or something to that effect. On with the story! Sorry. :])

Hermione, being entirely innocent to the art of terrible pick-up lines, replied eagerly, "You know where I can skin and peel a Hinkypunk? Really, Ron?"

He waggled his ears, and snorted strangely. "Oh, you can definitely peel it."

(He winked at her sexily, gave a rumbling laugh that sent shivers down her spine. "I'm going to rip your clothes off on this very table.")

She clapped her hands like the schoolgirl she was, and asked, "Ron! Can you take me to it right now? Please? I really do need this information, and I'd be ever so grateful to you!"

Ron spit over her shoulder, and squeaked, "Oh, you'll be grateful, all right. It's in the back of the library. You know, the Muggle Sci-Fi section that no one ever goes in?"

(He gently bit her neck, and breathed into her ear, "I'm going to take to the back of the library, and ravish you on top of the Stars Wars graphic novels.")

She followed him trustingly, already anticipating the ways she would slice the Hinkypunk's flesh. They went past rows and rows of books, until finally they reached a section of the library that even Hermione hadn't been to: the graveyard of alien zombies. She peered around in the dark dustiness, and couldn't see the cage containing the creature.

"Ron?" she called out. "I can't see the Hinkypunk. Are you sure it's here."

Behind her, he breathed heavily, and told her to go a bit farther.

(He softly kissed the place where her shoulder met her neck, and wrapped his strong arms around her waist.)

She kept walking and walking, until she hit a stone wall. She reached around tentatively, and just felt the wall, surrounded by a bookshelf on either side. "Ron! There's nothing back here! Where's the Hinkypunk?"

Muttering to herself, she pulled out her wand and cast a '_Lumos_.' She turned around, and found that Ron was only six inches behind her, smiling strangely.

"Oh. It must've run away. I guess it's just you and me, Herms."

("Oh, my love! Feel our passionate embrace!")

She glared at him. "Ronald Bilius, I told you never to call me that. You know I hate nicknames. Now, let me by!"

He put out a long, freckled arm, as she attempted to push past him, and grabbed her wand with his other hand.

She peered up at him in the semi-darkness, and laughed nervously. "Ron, this was hilarious. Make fun of the bookworm. I get it. Fun's over now. Let me go, please?"

He giggled, and replied, "But Herms, the fun is only beginning…"

And he trapped her struggling form against the cold, hard wall. She thrashed about, trying to get her wand, or to scratch him, but he was simply too big and bloody tall. She couldn't do anything. Except scream.

And scream she did. At least, until he put his hand roughly over her mouth. Of course, she bit him.

And then, he slapped her. Clean across the face. Her head snapped and hit the wall, and her last conscious feeling for a while was her skirt being dragged down.

* * *

"Hermione! Oh God, Hermione! Please wake up!"

She heard her name being called, and hazily thought that if it was Ron, he could just go to Hell.

But this didn't sound like Ron's constantly breaking voice. This voice, although raised in pitch with concern, was smooth and velvety. She liked listening to it, and wanted to make the voice happy, so she woke up.

Draco Malfoy was covering her fallen form, and tenderly holding her cheek. She was surprised, but still woozy, so she grinned tiredly at him.

His face lit up with a brilliant smile, and he grabbed her in a ferocious bear hug. "I was so worried you wouldn't wake up," he murmured fervently into her hair.

She felt vaguely sorry for worrying him, and patted him weakly on the back.

He let her out of the embrace, and gently lowered her to the floor, all the while telling her she was fine, and no one was going to hurt her.

She felt she would pass out again, and wanted to know before she traveled to unconsciousness. "Ron?"

His face darkened, and he hissed, "That bastard will never hurt you again! I took care of that. He'll never touch another girl if he knows what's good for him."

She drifted out of awareness then, but her last thought was that his lovely voice could make words like 'bastard' sound so superb.

* * *

Later, she would ask him how he found her there, when no one ever went that far back in the library. He blushed, ducked his head, and told her he had a secret crush on Princess Lea.

A/N: Written for Corinne, who wanted to flesh out an "overtly-handsy Ron." I'd say his hands were pretty busy. :)

After Ron says things, you will notice there is something in parentheses. This is what Ron imagines he sounds like in real life. Psh. Loser.


	20. Impress Her with Your Shining Armor

Otherwise known as: Impress Her with Heroic, But Slightly Less Bloody, Rescues.

Impress Her with Slightly Less Heroic Rescues

She was studying in the library for their next Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. It was her worst subject, and the only one that Harry was beating her in this year. Psh. Just because the teacher was his godfather, he got the better grade.

She felt immediately guilty for that thought. Of course Harry wouldn't do that. He was simply more adept at DADA than she was. Which was the reason she was in here frantically memorizing her book, so that she could defeat him triumphantly, through the power of knowledge. Yes.

She was looking up ways to trap and skin Hinkypunks, when she felt the chair across from her pull out, and someone sit down heavily in it. She furrowed her brow in annoyance, as she waited for her study hour to be ruined by a pointless interruption.

All she heard was short, nervous breaths and multiple fingers drumming on the table. She looked up, and immediately relaxed. It was Ron. She could tell him off, and it wouldn't matter.

But… there was something off about him. She couldn't quite tell what it was, but she was pretty sure it was more important that killing magical creatures in horrific ways.

So she shut her musty tome, and laid her hand across his jerky fingers. "Want to talk about it?"

He gazed up at her with panicked eyes, and shook his head briefly. He resumed the tapping. She exhaled in frustration. Kindness, she remembered. Proceed with kindness.

"Ron, I can't help you with your problem if you don't tell me what it is. And if you don't have a problem, then might I ask you why the _bloody hell_ you are here during my study hour?"

His eyes looked tortured, and she immediately felt terrible for snapping at him. His dilemma must be something simply awful for him to look like this.

Perhaps, she thought with a sudden gasp, he was… coming out?

Hermione had always thought Ron's face lit up whenever Harry would come in the room, and how he would always laugh harder at Harry's jokes than at hers.

Yes, he was afraid of telling her his wand waved the other way. But Hermione, being the brilliant girl she was, had anticipated this moment, and read several books on homosexuality. And she knew from _Wizards Wanking: If He Can't Get a Girl, He's Gay_ that coming out was the hardest part of Ron's journey. She resolved to be supportive and open, and try her hardest not to think Harry and Ron shagging was erotic (What? Harry was hot, and Ron was nice-looking. Just because she didn't like either one of them _that _way, didn't mean she wasn't a normal teenage girl. Who had fantasies about her best mates pounding into each other. Yes.)

She put on a calming face, starting stroking his arm, and said in a soothing tone, "Ron, whatever you need to say, you can tell me. I'm your best friend, and I'll support you no matter what. I'm always open if you need to talk about _anything_." Wink wink. Talk about the way your dick sings Harry's name so I can go back to Hinkypunks.

He gulped noisily, and muttered, "Well, there's this… person that I kind of have a crush on, and I don't think they realize it. And they're kind of close to me, so I don't want to mess up our friendship."

It was Harry, her mind cried triumphantly. And he was scared of messing up their friendship. Aww, that was so sweet. She was rather certain that Harry would return his feelings, as she thought he also went for blokes. Her mind quickly drifted to a quickie, but she shook herself out of it. No! The book had said this was the most crucial part of Ron opening up. Her accepting his choice completely, and offering helpful advice.

"Well, Ron. I would think that Har- I mean, this _person_ would have to be an idiot to not reciprocate your interest, because… well… look at you! You're smart…ish, funny, good-looking, and great at Quidditch! What _person _wouldn't want you? I think you should just tell this _person_, and in fact, I'd give that certain someone a great big kiss!"

He smiled hugely, and leaned towards her. Hermione was so caught up in her little vision of them snogging passionately whilst tearing off articles of clothing, that she didn't see what he was doing until cold, chapped lips pressed themselves to her own.

She was shocked. Her mind ran through their conversation. She felt so stupid. At absolutely no point in their entire fucking conversation, had he talked about Harry. Or the male species in general. '_Someone close to him that he didn't want to ruin their friendship.'_ Oh, she was a bloody idiot.

Whilst she was musing on her lack of intelligence, Ron assumed that her not pushing him away obviously meant that she was in to him, so he added a little something to the kiss he liked to call Tongue. At this point, she was shaken from her stupor, and pushed him away roughly.

They panted and glared at each other for long minutes. And then Ron seemed to crumple from the inside, and he leaned heavily over the table. Hermione felt sorry for him, but she wouldn't make out with him just to see him smile. Instead, she would make the situation worse and more awkward by saying, "Sorry. I thought you were talking about Harry."

Ron picked up his head, and stared at her. He laughed, a short, bitter sound. "Of course. You thought I was gay. Since I'm not, I don't suppose I have a chance with you?"

She shook her head regretfully. "I love you, Ron. But only as a friend, and sort of like a slightly bothersome younger brother. I'm sorry."

He sighed, and stood up. "Well, this has been a lovely chat, Herms. I'm now going to drown my broken heart in a drawn out shower. Please don't follow me."

He walked out, a shadow of the boy that had come in, and she stared helplessly after him.

What was she supposed to do? Say, "Oh, Ronald! You make my heart and various other internal organs fly" just so they could be on companionable terms? Her sense of honesty wouldn't let her do that, and neither would her soul.

But it was Ron. Her best friend. The one that gave her chocolate when she was PMSing, the one she cried on when she got an 'Exceeds Expectations,' the one she fought with and laughed with and shared her secret dreams with. She couldn't do all those things with Harry, who was still her best friend, but he wasn't _Ron_.

What would she do without him? She'd tell you what she would do: she would run to some part of the library that no one ever went in, and sob her existence out. That's what she would do.

She sat, huddled between _Jabba the Hut _and_ Jaken: Toad Demon_, weeping pitifully, when a hand gently started stroking her hair.

An angel's voice whispered down to her, "It's alright. I'm here now. Nothing can hurt you anymore. I'm here. I'll protect you."

With an especially loud bawl, she leapt into the arms of her savior. She blubbered out the whole story to her knight in shining armor, who only held her tighter and murmured sweet reassurances into her hair. She fell asleep in his arms, to the sound of his melodious tone.

* * *

She woke up, warm, and content, dried tear tracks on her cheeks. Her redeemer stretched out beneath her, and said sleepily, "Morning. Feel better?"

She turned her head, and gazed into the eyes of Draco Malfoy. Said savior.

She supposed she should feel shocked, and say something to the effect of "This is wrong, we must stop before my virtue is tarnished," but she simply didn't feel like it. Instead, she thought she would indulge herself in another one of her flights of the imagination. She reached up with her hand, and cupped his cheek softly. His eyes darkened to the calm before the storm, and his head dipped down to her own.

* * *

Harry found them in the Muggle Anime/Sci-Fi section in the deepest corner of the library. He stopped short at the sight.

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, wrapped in each others' arms, kissing tenderly and slowly.

Well. He had always expected Hermione to like Ron, but Harry rather suspected Ron was gay. Like himself. Harry ran out of the library to have a little "chat" with his other best friend.

And if Ron wasn't gay, Harry thought he was hot enough to turn him.

Straightness be damned.

* * *

A/N: Written for Umbridgeskitty and Corinne, who wanted/imagined a different version of Impress Her with Heroic Rescues. Involving bumbling Ron, instead of His Evilness.


	21. Impress Her with An Epic Fail

Impress Her with An Epic Fail

"Draco, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

His grip on the wheel tightened. His scowl deepened.

"Yes, you infernal woman! I know what I'm doing! For the last bloody time, didn't I take that stupid driving class for school children? Didn't I pass the bloody exam? With flying colors? Why, yes. Yes I did. So let me concentrate on the effing road and drive!"

Draco huffed, face red, and breathed heavily. He was only doing this to impress her, mad Muggle that she was. But to question his abilities to drive, it was like questioning his capability to… perform, shall we say.

He was certainly up to the task (both of them).

And he had passed her (technically, the United Kingdom's) insipid test. Yes, he had Confounded the examiner once. He learned that little beauty from Ron Weasley. But he still knew how to drive.

Reasonably well.

"Well, Draco. I do not doubt your capacity to… (snort) _perform_ (gasp! Had he said his monologue out loud?), but you passed the exam in London, and this is…"

_Wee-ooo! Wee-ooo!_

Hermione inhaled sharply, and grabbed for the wheel.

Draco shouted, "What the fuck are you doing? We're going off the road!"

Hermione cried, "Of course we are, you twit! That's a ruddy police officer! We're getting pulled over. Didn't you read the _manual_?"

Of course he did. Cover-to-cover. Literally. He only read the covers.

Not like he would tell her that, though.

He would merely impress her by sweet talking his way out of a ticket. That would make an impact on his little brat.

Draco fumbled with the button to open the window for about a minute (during the time when the police officer makes you wait, to increase your sense of guilt and your fear. It was working on Hermione. Oh, it was working.), and then gave up. He muttered a quick spell, and the glass vanished.

The policeman waddled up to Draco's side of the car, and Draco smiled widely at him.

And breathed through his mouth, because this fat, balding man smelled exactly like sour coffee. And lack of deodorant. This was, in fact, a valid odor.

But he would persevere, in his quest to make Hermione astonished by his prowess in other areas than the bedroom.

"Hello, my fine man! May I say you look quite dashing in that uniform?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. The officer attempted to, but his face muscles were unused to so much activity, so he just grunted.

"Alright, you fag. Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Actually, I don't. But I'm suspecting you wanted to brighten my existence with the appearance of your ethereal visage!"

The man's brain slowly worked through the meaning of visage. While it was doing that, it noticed something unusual about the punk's voice.

He said, "Freak, you a foreigner?"

Draco grinned more widely, and replied chirpily, "Oh, how intelligent you are, and handsome too! The perfect package! I'm a Brit, but I bet you already knew that from your keen observation skills!"

Hermione groaned, and dropped her face in her hands. They were so screwed, and he was so bloody oblivious!

The man's mind went into overtime, trying to remember something. It was last night; there was something on TV about British people. They ate funny foods, and had a funny accent, and they said funny things, and they drove –AH! That was it!

The man attempted to smirk, but again with the rarely seen facial muscles. So he grimaced, and said, "You're driving on the wrong side of the road, faggot."

And he shuffled back to his squad car, calling over his shoulder, "You get a warning this time, creeper!"

Draco sat back, stunned. No where had it ever occurred to him that he might actually be committing a traffic offense! He just thought the policeman was mistaken. Oh fuck. Hermione was going to be pissed.

He slowly turned his head to look at her, and said nervously, "Hermione, love-"

Her shoulders stopped shaking, and she uttered abruptly, "Get out of the car. Now."

He sputtered, "But-what-why should I-?"

She revolved her body to stare at him. There was a reckoning force in her eyes, a promise of eternal damnation if he didn't comply. "Out. Now."

He hastily took off his seat belt, threw open the door, and ran outside. She came around, and sat in the driver's seat. He meekly got in on the passenger's side, and they took off.

She never let him drive again.

A/N: I believe this is written for SilverSerpent122, who wanted an 'epic fail.'

I'd say this pretty much covers it.

To be clear, I have nothing against police officers or gays. This stereotype of a middle-aged American male is merely provided for comic relief, and to help the plot along. I don't condone what he did, but I wrote it. ;]

Thank you for all the reviews!


	22. Impress Her with Your Twitard Abilities

**WARNING:** Erm… mention of sex, crass language, sosososomuch!crack.

Oh, and there's subtle (or not so subtle) Twilight bashing in here.

Draco's also not actually a Twitard (God forbid); I just liked the title. :]

Impress Her with Your Twitard Abilities

Hermione screamed, loud and long and high-pitched. Draco immediately dropped his Potions essay, and raced up the stairs. He whipped around the doorway, and halted abruptly.

Hermione sat there, frozen in what appeared to be shock, one hand poised in the act of painting her toenails. Draco anxiously scanned her form, but found nothing that could've made her scream like that. Still, she was a woman, and thus he approached her hesitantly.

"Hermione? Are you alright? I heard your scream…"

She started, and stared at him in horror. She scrabbled awkwardly away from him, and knocked the nail polish bottle over in the process. "No!" she shouted. "Get away from me! There's something wrong! I don't- I don't know what I might do to you!"

He moved slowly towards her, palms up, and face set in a non-threatening manner. She flinched under his touch, but allowed him to wrap his arms around her.

"Now, love," he murmured soothingly, "what's this all about?"

She spoke haltingly. "I was painting my toes- well, just my big toe. I didn't get to any of the others, because I came to a horrifying realization. I was just sitting there, painting it, and I realized that my toe is really pale. And then I looked at the nail polish, and it has… _sparkles in it_."

She stared at him significantly. He didn't understand. She huffed impatiently and cried, "Don't you see? My toe is Edward Cullen!"

*

He knew, deep down inside, that this was not the best time in the world to throw back his head and laugh hysterically. But he did just that.

Hermione tried to throw his arm off, and he realized he might be hurting her feelings. So he tried to stop chortling, he really did.

Eventually (in about three minutes), he succeeded.

Her back was turned to him, and she sat rigidly. He exhaled noisily, and started massaging her neck. "Hermione," he said quietly, "I'm not laughing at you. I understand your reasoning; it was just the way you said it that made me laugh. However, I don't think your big toe is Edward just because it's pale and sparkly."

She turned around, and demanded, "But how can you know for sure?"

He smiled, reached down, and lightly touched her toe. She tensed, and he traced it gently. "If your toe was Cullen, then it would be cold and feel like stone, right? But from where I'm sitting, it feels soft and warm."

She giggled a little, and he drew her a tad closer to his side.

"Is your toe desiring for my blood?" She shook her head minutely. "Then I don't think it's turning into Edward Cullen."

Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave a small sigh of relief. A little while later, she looked up at him, eyes alit with mischief. "I think that other parts of me are desiring for other parts of your anatomy."

There were no thoughts of vampires the rest of the night.

Except for when Hermione gave him a rather pronounced love-bite on the neck, but neither of them minded that very much.

FIN.

A/N: AAH! I'm back to Dramione! For those of you that are screaming in horror (or in joy), I swear it's a one time thing. I just had this in my head, and it wouldn't come out.

I promise I'll be back to Drarry shortly. Thank you for all the reviews!


	23. Impress Her with a Potato Face

Beebee. EPIC WIN PROMPT.

**WARNING: language, foodplay (it's weird, I know)**

Impress Her with a Face Made Out of Potato

Her mother had impressed upon her rigid social guidelines ever since she was a little girl. She knew what fork to use first, how to eat soup without making a single noise, how to smile without showing her teeth in case there was something caught in them; she knew it all. She had the manners of a Pureblood in the body of a Muggleborn.

Most importantly, Hermione always followed the Golden Rule of Eating: Never play with your food. It was disgraceful, and it made people be ashamed to eat with you in public. She secretly suspected that this was why she and Ronald would never be right together (as he smiled unsuspectingly at her with his mouth full of bangers and mash).

But this, this was altogether unexpected. Her mother had never taught her what to do when the food starts playing with _you_.

*

She had been sitting innocently at the table, delicately tasting her toast and simultaneously glaring at Ron's horrendous manners, when she felt something nudge her legs apart.

One never caused a scene at mealtime, so she leisurely and discretely looked downward.

She promptly gasped, albeit quietly. Complacently resting in between her thighs, was a… _potato face?_

It was a potato cake, perfectly golden and most likely delicious, that someone had put coconut on for hair, with dark jam eyes, and a little smirk that looked to be made of marshmallow topping.

Now that she thought about that combination of flavors, it was probably disgusting.

But the oral palpability was not the fact concerning her. What worried her was that the face was an exact replica of someone else's in the room.

Malfoy's.

She slowly lifted her head, and casually looked out across the Hall. Yes, there he was, smirking at her in the exact way the damned potato cake was. He even tilted his head so that it matched the angle of the face sitting in between her legs.

Once he had caught her eye, he grinned, and motioned with his wand. She quirked an eyebrow, and he muttered a spell, but of course she couldn't make it out.

All she knew was that she suddenly went rigid.

"Hermione, are you feeling alright?" Ginny asked concernedly. "You don't look too good."

She tightly smiled. "I'm feeling perfectly well, Ginervra. I just remembered something that I forgot to do."

Looking a little hurt at the use of her full name, Ginny turned back to her conversation with Lavender.

Hermione sat fully upright, with her fists clenched at her sides. One must not make a scene at the breakfast table, she told herself over and over. I'll simply get up, and walk away quietly.

She positioned her feet on the ground to swing her legs over the bench, and made the mistake of looking back at Malfoy. Quickly he flicked his wand, and she was frozen in place.

Oh, fuck. This wouldn't end well.

She was temporarily stuck to a bench in the midst of all her peers, and a face made out of potato was eating her out under the table.

*

It was dirty. She knew that. It was unsanitary. She recognized that.

But it was _good_ (and a small voice in the back of her head said she was a naughty, naughty girl).

She didn't dare look down again, for then other people would follow her lead, and then there would be an uproar. Instead she locked gazes with Malfoy, whose seemingly careless wand motions instigated the sensations she felt below the waist.

The pressure increased, and the tongue movement (She assumed it was a tongue; most likely made of a strip of bacon. Or a sausage. She shivered.) quickened. She tried to press her thighs together, but she couldn't, what with being stuck to the bench.

Panting slightly, she stared at Malfoy, whose smirk was gone, and replaced with darkened lusty eyes. He clearly mouthed, _Come for me_.

And oh Merlin, did she come.

For five minutes, the aftershocks still quaked her body. Once she felt she was somewhat in control of herself, she shakily pushed away from the table, and walked unsteadily out of the Great Hall.

She stumbled into the nearest alcove, and rested her head against the cool stone wall.

Strong arms appeared and wrapped themselves around her waist. A husky voice rumbled in her ear, "That was hotter than I expected."

She weakly laughed. "Draco, how could you? At breakfast? In front of everyone?"

He chuckled, and nuzzled the back of her neck. "I do recall last week I was in the same compromising position in the middle of Charms class."

She blushed, and tried to protest, but he cut her off. "Not that I minded, of course. Just think of it as payback."

As he turned her around and hungrily kissed her, her mind whirred dangerously.

You didn't give payback to a Gryffindor without expecting retaliation.

FIN.

A/N: Ew, het. :] Alright, I found this in the recesses of my laptop, and I'm basically posting this for you, Megan (CoMiCalMe).

BUT THIS IS THE LAST DRAMIONE I WILL EVER POST. POSSIBLY. :]


End file.
